


Handling It

by CelestialSymphony



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSymphony/pseuds/CelestialSymphony
Summary: A request from a friend. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults.





	Handling It

You have played plenty of video games.  Hunk saw to that.  And you’ve spent plenty of time training in the simulator.  Coran saw to that.  But you have never played a video game in the simulator before.  Pidge is going to see to that.  Your name is Lance McClain and are going to so kick ass at this!

“Alright, the parameters are set,” the green pilot walks in wearing her battle suit, “Our Bayards will work as our base weapons.”

“Yeah yeah,” You bluster, “Let’s go already!”

Pidge rolls her eyes and gives the slightest of smirks as the room shimmers away and is replaced by dark metal hallways.  You manage to keep your cool as the tell-tale theme song plays, but then you see Pidge’s armor transform into a green Spartan suit and yours to a blue model and you can’t help it and start hopping up and down.  Across your visor the words “The Pillar of Autumn” displayed and suddenly the floor shakes and your Bayard has transformed into an assault rifle. 

The NPC in front of you runs off and gets blasted as you and Pidge duck and weave your way around the ship in the intro sequence.  When you arrive on deck, the cut scene plays out and Master Chief’s voice comes out of your helmet and damn if that isn’t really cool.  When the captain hands you a gun you feel the rush again.  Now you get to do some fighting!

That rush quickly dissipates, however, as you advance through waves of grunts that don’t go down with one shot.  You’re not even halfway through the ship and this has already turned from fun into work.  You’ve been fighting a real live alien race and this is hitting a little too close to home for you.  The only difference is when you get shot your suit vibrates and you don’t die.  You’re almost to the transport ship when two Hunters step out.  You’ve played this game a million times and you don’t remember any Hunters on this level.

“Pidge?”  You shout from behind cover as a fusion beam tears through the hall, “What difficulty setting are we on?”

“Umm, Nightmare?” The green pilot nervously laughs, “You said you wanted a challenge.”

“Hard Mode is a challenge!” You yell, turning to shoot a grunt who wanders too close for comfort.

“Thought you could handle it,” you can hear the challenge in her voice and that instantly makes your blood boil.

“I can handle anything,” you let out a war cry and dash from behind cover.

Pidge comes chasing behind you, both your guns blazing as you knock out a few more grunts.  But suddenly there’s a blinding flash and you’re hit squarely in the chest.  Your suit vibrates all over as you’re tossed backwards and smack into Pidge, the two of you tumbling over each other till your back impacts the floor and she lands squarely on your chest. 

The simulation flickers and fades out revealing the training room.  You sigh audibly as Pidge shuffles to get off of you.  A scathing remark bubbles up and almost leaves your lips when Pidge removes her helmet and looks down at you.  Her brown eyes are so sparkly.  Have they always been that way?  Well she does wear glasses all the time so it’s not like you’ve ever really looked before.

“You ok?” She looks worried and ok that is definitely kinda cute.

“Fine,” you soothe, even though half a second ago you were ready to tell her off.

“What is that look for?” Pidge sits up, eyeing you suspiciously, “Did you hit your head?”

“Just never realized how pretty your eyes are,”  you’ve never been one to think before you speak, and the blank look Pidge gives you reminds you of that.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head?” You can see her cheeks darken ever so slightly.

“You know, we’re all alone here…”

“Oh please,” Pidge stands up and starts to walk towards the door, “You couldn’t handle Nightmare mode, you can’t handle me.”

“Are you kidding?” You prop your hands behind your head and smile, “I bet I can.”

“Pretty sure every time you’ve chased after a girl it’s gotten you into trouble.”

Punching in the door code, Pidge turns for one last hit.

“Don’t make bets you have no chance in winning.”

And then she’s gone.  Oh no she doesn’t!  You are the blue paladin.  You are a lady’s man.  And now that you have your eyes set on Pidge, she’ll be yours in no time. 

The next morning you awake to an alarm sounding, calling you to battle stations.  You had been having such a nice dream too.  Brown eyes, messy hair, and a sweet voice telling you how awesome you were.  But that quickly fades as you jump into your battle suit and race to your station.  The other pilots meet you on the deck.

“Paladins,” Allura addresses you from her usual place at the helm, “We received two distress signals.  Keith, Hunk, Shiro?  I want you three to head out and take out the Galra battle ship. Pidge?  You and Lance will follow the second signal.  It looks like a freighter being harassed by a few Galra fighters.”

“Alright!” You cheer, both for the chance to kick some Galra ass and to be alone with Pidge.

Once you and the green pilot deploy and are far enough away that your radio link won’t be intruded on, you start laying on your charm, “So Pidge, ready to watch me take down some fighters?”

A sigh crackles across the com link, “If it’s anything like yesterday’s _Halo_ fight, we’ll both be dead in an hour.”

“That was different,” you sidestep, “Galra aren’t as tough as nightmare mode.”

“You still can’t handle it.”

There’s that phrase again and instantly your blood boils.

“I bet I can take down more of them than you can,” you really should know better than to open your mouth when your blood is pumping.

“Don’t make bets you can’t win,” her voice is playful and suspicious, but you’re in too deep and you’re pride is at stake.

“I am betting you I can take out more of the enemy than you can!” You bluster over the radio.

There’s a momentary silence before she relents, “Fine.  I win, you have to tell everyone I beat you on the deck of the ship.”

“Fine,” you smirk, “And WHEN I win, you have to go on a date with me.”

Another small pause, “Deal.”

You feel your pulse race.  A flash in your mind of Pidge in a dress, her hair pulled back, no glasses, and make-up.  Oh yeah.  This is going to be so good.

…except it isn’t.  When you get to the freighter it’s Pidge who notices the fighters are docked on the ship.  It’s Pidge who hacks into the ships computer and lowers the shields in one area so you two can sneak on board undetected.  It’s Pidge who locates where the Galra have the crew held prisoner.  When the firefight ensues, you do a decent job of taking down some of the enemy.  Only problem is Pidge takes out way more.  She rigs panels to explode, disables their fighters, and just wrecks house.  You’re kind of impressed, you’re a little turned on, and you are sorely beaten.  Even as the freed crew showers you both with thanks and praise, the look on Pidge’s face makes you deflate.  Makes everything deflate.

As the freighter goes on its way and you and Pidge go on yours, you try and work the sympathy angle, “You did some damn fine work out there Pidge.”

“I know,” you can hear the snugness in her voice and you know what’s coming next, “But save all that for when you have to tell it to the others back at the castle.”

“Awww come on,” you switch to moping, another tactical blunder.

“I told you not to make bets you couldn’t win.”

“It’s not fair!” You flare up, “This mission was totally slanted in your favor!  I demand a rematch.”

“You just don’t know when to quit,” if you were thinking clearly you might be able to discern the sing-song tone.

She’s playing you.  She knows she’s playing you.  YOU know she’s playing you.  But you can’t let it go.  You HAVE to win.  You have your pride at stake. Plus, that image of Pidge in a dress just will NOT leave your thoughts. 

“Rematch!” You call out again, “A race back to the castle.”

“You can’t handle me,” she hums across the speaker and your skin tingles with excitement and challenge.

“Name your price,” you seethe.

“You have to tell everyone how great I am…In a dress.”

“Fine!” Why did you agree to that?! “But _when_ I win, you’ll have to go on a date with me…In a dress!”

“You really want to wear a dress?” You can hear her smile and it’s kicked your brain out of control and your hot blood is careening you off a cliff.

“No, YOU wear a dress!” you try to take a deep breath, “Look, we doin’ this or not?”

“First one back?” she muses, “Since you’re so worked up, why don’t you do the countdown?”

“In 3...2…” For a split second you recognize your pulse is racing, and at the same time you have a sudden dread, but it’s too late, “…1…GO!”

You punch your lion into full gear.  The roar of the thrusters, the roar of the lion, the roar of your blood.  It’s exhilarating. You’re off to a great start.  The stars go whipping past you, planets are check points, asteroids obstacles.  You take an early lead and relish the feeling.  But then Pidge starts whipping off planets, tumbling through tight spots in asteroid fields, and she’s beating you.  You push your lion harder, begging him to have mercy on you.  The mental image of Pidge in a dress, smiling sheepishly at you makes your heart beat faster.

Suddenly the castle is in sight.  You’re catching up.  You push through the vacuum of space.  You haven’t quite figured out where the stopping point is and you don’t really care.  You’re almost nose to nose with Pidge when Allura’s voice crackles across the radio.

“Paladins?  Why are you coming in so fast?  Slow down!”

And that momentary distraction is your undoing.  You don’t see the tracers pop out of the Green Lion before they suddenly explode, sending you veering wildly to the left and pushing Pidge ahead.  As you pull your lion around and back under control, you watch the green lion drift across the Castle’s shield defense and slide into its hanger.  You are thoroughly beat.  Allura is yelling over the radio.  You don’t bother to listen.  All hopes of Pidge going on a date with you have died right there.

You report to the bridge and get a dressing down by Allura for being reckless.  Pidge smooths it over and you can’t bring yourself to look at her.  You can feel the smarm oozing off of her.  She beat you.  Again.  As you exit the bridge together she gloats under her breath.

“Do you need to borrow a dress or are you gonna ask Allura for one?”

“Alright listen,” you rasp in case any of the others are in hearing distance, “Double or nothing.”

“That _was_ double or nothing,” Pidge sighs, “And you lost again. Just quit while you’re ahead.”

She stops in the hallway and turns to you, prodding a finger into your chest which does nothing to help your temper, “Face it Lance.  You. Can’t.  Handle.  This.”

“Triple or nothing,” you grit your teeth, “If I win, you go on a date with me.  If you win I’ll do all that other stuff AND never ask you out again.”

“No,” Pidge looks up at you and damn her eyes are pretty, “I’ll go on a date with you _if_ you win.  But _when_ I win, you have to be my slave for a full twenty four hours.”

Bells and whistles and alarms start going off in your brain.  You’ve never been good at listening to your brain.  When Pidge sticks out her hand yours almost materializes in hers.  Her grip tightens ever so slightly.  You swallow hard.  You are suddenly a little scared…and a little turned on.

“Pick your demise,” her voice sends chills down your spine.

“Straight up drone battle,” you try to match her tone, try to ooze charm and confidence at the same time, “Endless Enemies. 3 minutes to down as many as you can.”

“You’re on.”

You go straight to the training room.  You’re both already in you battle suits.  This will be short and sweet.  You’ll tear through a couple dozen drones and then have your date at 7.  It’ll make for a nice evening.  She’ll walk in wearing a dress, you’ll shower her with compliments, you’ll tear down her defenses with your charm, she’ll start the kissing, you’ll start the groping, and you’ll get laid before midnight.  By the time Pidge is done punching in the parameters you’re pumped even more than you were for the first two contests.

Ten drones shimmer into existence around each of you.  You lower your stance and ready your bayard.  There are three soft beeps then a louder, longer tone indicates the start of battle.  The drones rush in.  You swoop low and take out three instantly.  Springing backwards over two of them you come down hard on their backs, blocking a blow from another.  Whipping and swiping, clashing and cutting, you mow down enemy after enemy.  You’re breathing hard.  You start to laugh.  This is exhilarating!  There’s no way you’re gonna lose!  The drones fall in rapid succession, one after another, until they are a wall of bodies around you.  Another long low tone and the drones stop attacking.

You’re breathing hard and you’re smiling like an idiot.  The exercise was amazing and your heart is dancing.  You look over at Pidge and falter just slightly.  Her pile is big too.  You calm yourself by noting hers are all centrally located so it looks bigger where as your foes fell in a ring around you.  The drone bodies shimmer out of existence and Pidge flashes you the most innocent of smiles.  You feel your stomach lurch even before the computer buzzes with the results.  Your name blazes bright blue on the wall with a total of 97 kills.  You beam.  Prematurely. Pidge’s name glares at you in harsh green followed by the number 101.  4 more kills.  Not one.  Not two.  Not three. Four more.

“Well Lance-ie pants,” she chuckles, “I tried to warn you.”

“What do I have to do,” you are so resigned, so humiliated that all you really want to do is crawl into bed and forget this ever happened.

“7 o’clock.  My room.  You’re enslavement starts in 2 hours,” you don’t even bother to look up at her as she leaves.

Dejectedly you slump back to your room.  You’ve been beaten.  You’ve been beaten bad.  You’ve been stomped on by another pretty girl.  No, you can’t think like that anymore.  You told her you’d never ask again if you lost.  As you strip off your gear and slide into the shower you wonder what kind of things she has planned for your servitude.  She’s definitely going to have you declare before everyone that she’s the greatest while wearing a French Maid outfit.  That’s what you’d do if you were in her position.  Probably.  And then she’ll make you…what?  Clean her room?  She’s not a slob. 

You dry off from your shower as the question perplexes you.  What will she make you do?  You throw on a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt.  Might as well as be comfortable in your enslavement.  You still can’t think of any other things she’s going to make you do as you head towards her room.  A low, soft chime echoes through the ship signaling the time.  7pm.  You sigh and knock on her door.  All you really feel like doing is going to bed and sleeping off the shame of the day.  Suddenly the door hisses open and that pity party you’re having clears out of your head instantly.

The quick version is a skirt and low cut blouse.  No, it’s almost a school girl’s uniform.  You blink, dumbfounded.  Your eyes visibly trail down her form.  Little perky boobs, creamy skin showing the curvature of her breasts poking out from a tight white wool top, the one button at the apex of her cleavage straining visibly, purposefully. Down further a skirt.  Black plaid, crisp pleats, tight at the waist and swooping out, ending considerably higher than the knee.  Garter belts, black and lacey, holding up long sleek stockings that make her legs look like perfect shadow.  Polished patented leather black heels.  She must be almost three inches taller now.  You swing your eyes back up.  Her face is so smooth, so soft.  Her hair is slicked back into a tight bun.  Her eyes shine a chocolaty brown behind her glasses, a smirk playing on her lips.  Your cock jumps in your pants.  You can’t stop it.  You’re not sure you want to.

“Come in,” her tone is a gentle command, not a request.

You stand there for a moment, still taking in the sight of the beautiful young woman in front of you.  You don’t rightly know who she is.  She has Pidge’s eyes but that’s the only thing that reminds you of the green paladin right now.  Ok so now you’re definitely at least half hard and maybe skinny jeans weren’t the best choice after all.  You haven’t moved.  Her smirk turns into a thin, disapproving line.

“Now,” she barks and your feet almost leave you behind as you step into the room.

You hear the door hiss close and lock as Pidge types in a code.  She steps around you slowly, the click of her heels on the floor making a chill run up your spine.  She’s almost as tall as you.  She looks you in the eyes.  You still haven’t found your voice.  Her eyes look you over appraisingly and you suddenly feel very exposed.  You know you’re erection has to be visible, and you’re embarrassed but you think if you rush to cover it she’ll notice it even more so you just stand still.

“For the next twenty four hours, you belong to me,” her voice is like the purr of a deadly predator stalking its prey and man does that make your dick throb and your heart beat faster.

“Pidge,” you start but are quickly silenced.

“Quiet!” her tone is harsh again, “Slaves do not speak unless spoken to.”

You’re suddenly so very warm.  Her eyes bore into you and you suddenly feel so very naked.  Just with a look she is making you feel so exposed, so humiliated at your situation, and why is that turning you on so much?!  She turns away from you, her skirt fanning out a bit as she does so and you can’t help but look down at the perfect curvature of her butt.  When she whips back around your eyes shoot to attention like a child who’s been caught stealing candy and playing innocent.

“Take off your shirt,” she commands, “Slaves don’t wear shirts.”

Before any rational thought can ask why, you’re tearing the white fabric over your head and tossing it aside.  Maybe it’s her tone that  reminds you of your drill sergeant back at the academy.  Or maybe it’s instinctual, some deep seated primal fear of the predator that is staring you down.  Whatever it is, you feel your pants get tighter to the point it’s almost painful.  You can’t remember a time you have ever been this turned on. 

“Hold out your arms,” she frowns.

You do as you’re told.  She produces two small metal cuffs connected by a long chain.  Manacles.  The cold metal clamps down on your wrists and you swallow hard. A chill running up your arms, across and down your chest, through your legs, and tingles at your toes.  When she’s done, she looks you over again and the primal thrill runs through you again.  You want to turn tale and run.  She’s locked the door.  You’re trapped.  Whatever she plans to do to you, she can and will do it. 

You recall the three challenges from earlier in the day.  The mission; she’s smarter than you.  The race; she’s faster than you.  The contest; she’s deadlier than you.  You have put yourself at her mercy.  She told you that you couldn’t handle her.  Maybe she was right?

No.  You grit your teeth.  You can handle whatever she has planned.  And the way this is going, it looks like Pidge had a lot more planned than you thought.  Your cock jumps with excitement again as thoughts race through your mind of all the things you could do to her.  They just as quickly die when she puts a piece of black cloth in your hands.  You see her eyes.  You remember you are not in control here.

“Tie it over your eyes,” she instructs, “Slaves don’t need to see.”

You hesitate.  She glares at you.  You slowly pull the black cloth over your eyes.  The world goes dark.  The thrill, the excitement, the terror rushes in on you and you shiver with excited anticipation.  Once the cloth is secure, you straighten back up.  You hear the click of her heels as she approaches you.  Your heart beats faster.  Suddenly a cool hand on your warm chest.  You jerk back instinctively and are punished with a jerk to the shackles on your wrists. 

The hand pushes against your chest again, gently yet firmly coaxing you to step backwards.  After a few steps you feel your back touch the cold metal of the wall, and again you react to the sudden chill by jerking forward.  In the tangle of your motions you don’t have time to react as your hands are raised over your head.  You hear a metal click.  You don’t have to see to know she just chained you to the wall.  You let your arms sag a little and the chain pulls taunt.

“I told you that you couldn’t handle me,” her voice is hot in your ear and you shiver, a quick breath filling your lungs as you turn your head away, “But you persisted.  So let us see exactly what you can handle.”

Your chest expands and contracts rapidly.  You try to get your breathing under control.  Your hot, wet tongue darts out to try and wet your suddenly parched lips.  Your dick swells and pulses in your jeans.  The primal flight reflex is kicking in and you try to wrangle it making shivers run all over your body, your skin prickling up and all your hairs standing on end.  This is so incredibly hot.  You would have never seen Pidge as being into this.  Fuck, you didn’t even think _you_ would be into this. But she’s rendered you defenseless and completely at her mercy, and that is making your dick ache.

You feel her nose against your cheek.  You hear her breathe.  Like a predator smelling its prey, and damn that’s hot.  Her cool hand is on your chest.  You feel her trace the pads of her fingers lightly from one pectoral to the other.  One of her fingers dances over your nipple.  You gasp out a breath.  She hums amusedly.  The tip of her nail scratches ever so gently at your hardened nipple, and it makes the underside of your dick tingle.  You don’t question it, you just experience it.  It feels so strange yet so damn good.  Her hand traces across to the other side, again her nail dances across you hard, peaked flesh.

She pushes her hand back across your chest for a brief moment, and then drags her hand back across, her nails digging into your flesh.  It hurts, but it also feels really good.  You can’t help it.  You pant a few times.  Every breath expands your chest and pushes against her nails as she rakes them across you.  Her hand slips down to your stomach.  It almost tickles and you squirm slightly.  Then the nails come back again.  You slump your shoulder back into the cold wall as you twist against your chains.  Your body is on fire, only the sound of your own ragged breathing and the feeling of her hands on you keep you connected. 

She slides one finger into the waist of your jeans.  The groan that leaks from your lips is met with a slight puff of air, a silent laugh from the woman doing this to you.  You wish you could see her face.  Look into her eyes.  Maybe read the next move.  But you can’t.  You are immobilized and blinded and you have never been more turned on in your life.  Your cock is so hard it hurts, and you push your hips into her hand ever so slightly.  You want her to touch you.  When you feel the pressure of your jeans release you know she’s undone the button.  You hear the slow grip of metal teeth as she lowers your zipper.  The pressure on your dick is momentarily alleviated.

Then her hands leave from you.  You hear her take a few steps away.  You sigh with sudden frustration.  She chuckles darkly.

“I don’t think you’re ready,” she coos from across the room, her voice like satin and it makes another groan break from your lips.

“Come on,” you’re exasperated, you’re horny, and you want…no, you need her to touch you more.

“Slaves ask nicely,” her voice is a dangerous purr again, lost in the darkness somewhere in front of you, the unseen predator.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a little horse as you feel your throat dry up, “Please touch me.”

A second of silence.  Ten seconds.  Then the rewarding sound of heels clicking across the floor towards you.  The cool hand returns to your stomach, its finger’s pointed down.  Your heart beats hard against your ribs and your head lulls to the side in anticipation of what will come next.  Slowly, teasingly slowly the fingers lace down across your navel.  You feel soft fingers play under the elastic of your boxers, sharp nails against rough hair.  And then like ice to a flame, cool fingers wrap around the massive heat pouring off your dick.  You immediately pump into her hand a few times, your hips bucking at the sensation, a long low moan rising from your parched throat.

“Thank you,” you find yourself panting as you move your hips again, sliding yourself in and out of her balled hand.

Her other hand pulls at your underwear, pulling your jeans down just far enough so your dick springs free from its fabric prison, your balls resting on the edge of the elastic as her hand pumps you agonizingly slowly.  She slides her thumb over the head of your cock and your hips buck again.  She rakes her sharp nails gently along the bottom of your shaft and it sends fire racing through your veins. 

“More,” you beg, “Please.”

She increases her speed and you moan in appreciation.  The friction is so delightful, so satisfying.  You suddenly feel your balls tingle.  As if she realizes you’re on the edge, she slows down before removing her hand completely.  You groan disappointedly as your cock bobs in the air.  Within a few seconds the edge of orgasm fades away and you feel your dick soften ever so slightly.  After a few agonizing moments, a hand wraps itself back around your dick.  You only have a second to realize the angle of her hand has changed before the head of your cock is enveloped in warmth, a writhing wet tongue circling the sensitive tip as lips form a seal just behind the head.

You’re on the edge again almost instantly.  A hand wraps around your balls and squeezes ever so slightly.  It’s not painful, but it’s just enough to bring you back from the edge.  The hand slowly massages your balls as your cock is completely enveloped, the sucking sound matching the sensations you’re feeling.  Lips slip slide up and down your dick, slow at first, then speeding up.  A hand wrapped around your shaft pumps you as a tongue dances up and down with it.  You buck your hips again, wrapping your hands around the chains above you.  Your knees begin to shake and before you know it you’re begging her to stop.

“Please,” you rasp, “Please let me down.”

“Can’t handle it,” she calls from below you, “Pity.”

“No, I can,” you pant, “I can handle it.”

Her hands leave you completely and you feel her stand next to you.  Suddenly the blindfold is pulled from your head and the light hurts your eyes.  Your chest rises and falls quickly as you take in your surroundings.  Pidge still looks imposing, though a few strands of her hair have fallen loose from her bun.  Your knees are still shaking and you try to pull yourself up more.  You had been slouching against the wall.  Your dick is still rock hard and bobbing in the air.  You notice the wall across the room is lit up with dozens of tiny windows.  And there are figures moving in the shadows of these windows.  People.  There are people watching.  You look to Pidge.

“The bridge in a dress wasn’t good enough,” she smiles at you, “Hundreds of strangers watching you being bested by me?  Much more satisfying.”

“I can handle it,” you breathe, ignoring the wall of strange, alien faces watching. 

It almost makes your dick harder to know others have been watching.  You look to Pidge and she assesses you once more.  Her eyes scan down your chest, stomach, to your dick which is throbbing, neglected and begging for attention.  Reaching up, she frees your wrists from the shackles.  You rub them absently before reaching for your cock.

“No,” she commands, “On the bed.  Now.”

You do as she says.  You cross to her bed, briefly glancing at the wall of onlookers.  You wonder if any other the other paladins are watching.  The idea is both thrilling and embarrassing at the same time.  You think of Shiro watching with judgmental eyes, Keith slowly jerking himself off as he watches, Hunk blushing and yet not being able to look away.  You can’t help it; you wink at the digital crowd.

Laying on the bed as instructed, you feel your dick bob up and down.  You hope Pidge is going to finish blowing you.  Just the quick thought makes your cock twitch and harden back up to full attention.  But when she crawls on the bed, she’s kneeling by your head.  She looks down at you before swinging her leg over your chest, straddling you.  This gives you a perfect view up her skirt. 

Under the folds of her back skirt, there is only soft, pink skin.  A slit of redder, darker skin is accentuated by a light dusting of hairs, closely trimmed and framing her opening.  You pull your hands around and rest them on her thighs, pushing her skirt up so her lips are fully revealed.  She leans forward and a warm, sweet sent washes over you.  Your tongue darts out and is rewarded with the silk taste of skin.  Pidge moans above you and you pull her hips closer.

At first it’s an awkward angle, but soon your tongue is licking along her ridges.  You move your hand so it’s not only holding up her skirt but your thumb is teasing her clit.  Her façade cracks a little and she gasps ever so slightly.  You move your thumb faster as a salty film forms around your tongue.  You smile deviously up at your lover as she rocks back and forth into your touch.  She reaches behind her and grabs your cock and your hips buck in response, your dick throbbing at the returned attention.

Quickly so as to catch her off guard yet carefully so as not to hurt her, you turn and bring Pidge down onto the bed, pinning her under you.  You’re breathing is erratic, your pants are halfway down your legs, and you want nothing more than to fuck the beautiful young woman under you, her skirt pushed up and breasts busting out of her shirt.  You hold back, but barely.

“Slaves don’t overpower their masters,” her eyes are just a fierce as before but the desire is also clearly evident.

You bend down close to her ear and whisper, “Please?  I can handle it.”

Her quick intake of breath is all the permission you need.  Slowly you lower yourself till your dick is buried deep in tight warmth.  Pidge wraps her arms around your back and makes small, higher pitched sounds as you pull out and slowly drive back into her.  Your pace quickens and your breathing becomes labored again.  Your dick pulsates as it’s wrapped in tight rings or warmth, drawn out, and pushed back in again.  The woman under you is gasping, her nails digging into your back and shoulders. She swallows back cries as your cock is suddenly slicked up even more.  Her body shakes with orgasm as you pound your hips together.  You’re so close.  You can feel it.  You’re going to cum.

Quickly, you roll off of Pidge and begin stroking your dick.  She bats your hand away and replaces it with her own.  Your cock is lubed and warm from fucking her, and she furiously pumps away.  It’s only seconds before you feel your balls tighten, heat and electricity draw in and center at the base of your cock.  Then, like an explosion you’re cumming.  Searing white hot ropes coat her hand and your stomach as fireworks shoot off behind your eyes.  Your ears are wringing and your hips are still twitching as electricity shoots out of every nerve in your body.

Gradually you come back to reality.  Your body twists slightly.  Pidge is still stroking your cock which has become super sensitive and you writhe at the ticklishness.  She looks down at you and you smile up at her, the wall of shadowy faces behind you still present.

“You did pretty well for your first hour as my slave,” she attempts her piercing look from earlier but its effect is lost by her satisfied smirk.

“Told you I could handle it,” you smarm.

“I went easy on you,” she smirks before producing a small green rod, “I was going to use this on you.”

She presses a button and the rod briefly buzzes to life.  Your eyes grow a little bigger and your smile disappears.  Pidge laughs at you.

“Told you,” she clicks her tongue, “You can’t handle me.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you whisper in spite of yourself.

Pidge raises an eyebrow and chuckles darkly.

You chuckle nervously.   


End file.
